Criminal
by Rissa5
Summary: After deeply hurting Goten, Trunks turns to an angel for advice... GotenTrunks


Author's Notes:

First of all, a warning to all. This is slash (or yaoi, if you prefer). That means that two characters who are both boys will be romantically involved. If this is not your thing, please exit gracefully.

This story is set roughly around the time at the end of the Dragon Ball Z series, when Goten is seventeen and Trunks is eighteen. It's rated a bit high for some language and the insinuated happenings at the beginning. It's a song fiction, and the lyrics belong to Fiona Apple's "Criminal." It's quite long, and I apologize for that, but putting it into chapters would have messed up the continuity of the song. Oh, and it also refers to another yaoi couple I support, which should be easy for you to spot.

Curious? Read on...

****

I've been a bad, bad boy,

I've been careless with a delicate man.

And it's a sad, sad world,

When a boy will break a boy just because he can.

"Goten? I'm going now." Trunks' voice was carefully controlled, and a void took the place of the meager scraps of emotion he had tossed Goten just minutes before. The tone left Goten shaken, as though the veil he had allowed to fall across his eyes had suddenly been torn. Desperate, he found himself grappling to fix it once more. 

"Trunks, wait a minute, what's wrong?" Goten, still overwhelmed at the events this night had slung him through, began to realize that his illusion was on the brink of falling apart, and he could find no words that seemed to fit right in his mouth. 

Trunks raised one lavender eyebrow at Goten over his shoulder, and continued dressing himself. "Nothing's wrong. I have other things to do." Goten, eyes wide, stood numbly and began to do the same. A stone seemed to be sitting right where his heart used to be, and once again he found himself clamoring for the right thing to say. The one thing he could tell Trunks that might make him stay.

"I love you, Trunks." Goten's brows knitted together, and he all but gulped in anticipation. His emotions were written on every inch of his face when Trunks turned to him with apathy the younger Saiyan hadn't expected, and possibly an undertone of annoyance.

"Don't be ridiculous. You don't know what love is." Trunks' words flowed over Goten as if he were made of glass, stopping only to pierce his heart and run his throat dry. He found that anger spurned easily from this pain, and also that it seemed to mask it.

"Like you really do," Goten clenched his teeth, pulling on a sock. Trunks finished first.

"Of course I do. I'm not a child, after all." He smirked, and rose from tying his shoe. "Maybe I'll call you later, Goten. Goodbye." 

And he left. Goten could only drop back on his rumpled bed and bury his face in the scent that the young prince had left there, not able to find the strength to cry.

****

Heaven help me for the way I am.

Save me from these evil deeds before I get them done.

I know tomorrow brings the consequence at hand.

But I keep living this day like the next will never come.

Trunks wasn't so lucky. Tears began to seep from his marble blue eyes nearly the moment he took to the air outside of Goten's home. He let them flow, knowing it was useless to try to stop them. They were a part of him, and despite how weak he knew they made him appear, they always helped Trunks to feel better. He could taste the salt on his lips, and immediately found himself lost in the memory of what he had just caused. The salt of his tears, the salt of Goten's sweat, what was the difference anymore? 

He also didn't attempt to stop the flood of remorse that he had known would follow. He was wracked with it. His head began to ache, and he put two hands to it, laughing bitterly at the irony and thinking _If only Goten and everyone else knew how pathetic I am underneath it all._ Especially his dad. Around his dad, it was mask on, and that was that. His dad didn't know the Trunks beneath it. If he had, it would only make things awkward and sore.

The cool night air flew through Trunk's parted lips, drying out his mouth. He swallowed heavily and increased his speed, trying to outrace the guilt. It was pointless, though. Utterly futile. The regret always caught up to him. There was nowhere he could go that it could not find. This face of his, and the power it gave him was something he held to him like a treasure. Using it was such a clean escape from himself. He could live inside his image and break them, one by one, just for that moment when he would rise above them all, above _it_ all, and was free. 

Still the guilt always found him afterwards. He would cry, scream, laugh; it was all the same to him. It was all red hot and jabbing straight through him, fiercly burning. And he believed that if he just kept doing it, just kept using others the way he'd used Goten, that one day he'd go numb, and none of it would touch him again. The nerves would be scalded away, and the regret would be a distant memory.

That day hadn't come yet.

Trunks flew, barely aware of the passing miles, completely immersed within himself. His weakness in the vast expanse of this power had snapped him, and he had taken Goten. Goten had been someone who had lived inside of his heart all of his life. The raven-haired boy had his own room there, where he slept, laughed, and cried while Trunks protected him, and Trunks had vowed never to let anything destroy that sacred place inside him where all things were still true. But now his filthy addiction to his own power had. 

He had, as an excuse, told himself that this was the one. Breaking this boy would be the final straw, and his insides would go completely numb. Why worry over the regret when it would all be dull by the end of this beautifully ugly deed? Trunks had never enjoyed it and hated it so much. And the anguish, it had caught him by surprise. It was so twisted, so strong, different from the others. He mused on this, and wondered–why had taking Goten not given him the merciful end he desired? 

But the answer sat right before his eyes. You see, he loved his dad, something he had never told Vegeta, obviously. He loved his mom, something he told her nearly every day. He loved his sister, that bawling little brat. He loved his grandparents, God rest their souls. 

And he loved Goten. He couldn't remember a time when he had not loved him, couldn't remember a day when he had not held close to him–secretly–the glorious bond that they shared. They were just twitty little kids, and all Trunks could ever think about was becoming as strong as his father, and going outside to play with Goten. 

Trunks shook his head forcefully, trying to shake thoughts and emotions out with one quick flick. Looking down, he realized that he had long overshot Capsule Corporation and was hovering over the tiny house where Goku lived now that he and Chichi had separated. He continued to float just over this tiny domicile, deeply entwined around his thoughts. He was suddenly remembering back a few days ago (back when this guilt was manageable), when he had observed a scene between his father and Goku from almost the same position he was at now.

Vegeta, usually skilled at bottling himself away, had been having difficulty dealing with Bulma in the last couple of months–with regards to her tossing threats of divorce all over the place–and the strain had taken it's toll on the proud Saiyan. Neither Trunks nor Bra had gone unaware of this, but even Trunks hadn't known that Vegeta was taking leave nightly to pound these problems out of his system through sparring with Goku. 

Trunks, flying aimlessly one night after sneaking away from a worthless redhead he hoped never to think of again, had found himself here just as he did on this one, lingering above the house he now looked down on. 

Except that on that night only three or four days ago (it must have been), Goku had been outside, in the area behind the house which could be considered the backyard, trading blows with his father. Trunks hadn't been close enough to hear the conversation, but the nonverbal cues were more than obvious. Vegeta, after being beaten down by Goku and wanting it all the more, had been reduced to tears at the mercilessly kind words and hands of the clueless younger Saiyan. 

Trunks had watched, mouth agape, at a sight which he had never been privy to. Vegeta, noblest and coldest of all of the Z fighters, with tears streaming down his cheeks, all but falling into Goku's gentle embrace. They had exited into the house, leaving Trunks to wonder if perhaps he and his father were more alike than he had thought.

Now Trunks narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the cottage below as though it would solve his dilemma by reaching a hand (or window pane) out and pulling him inside. Trunks had always admired Goku, maybe even loved him in a fatherly sort of way, as he was constantly reminding Trunks of Goten with every jovial smile, stout laugh, and of course, the classic Son position which all three Son boys were famous for: one hand behind the head, gently scratching or teasing sooty hair and one sheepish Son smile painted upon the face. Goku... Goten... 

Trunks hesitantly dropped down to the grass, boots wetted by the dew clinging there, and proceeded to the door. Raising one shaking hand, he knocked, biting his lip dreadfully and crossing two fingers behind his back. 

****

Don't you tell me to deny it.

I've done wrong, and I wanna suffer for my sins.

I've come to you because I need guidance to be true,

And I just don't know where I can begin.

Goku was dreaming about Vegeta.

Vegeta was cooking in Goku's kitchen, mumbling to himself as he pulled down different ingredients from a shelf that floated above his head and stuffed them all in a giant pot. Goku sat at the table, which, strangely enough, was about ten times as large as it should have been. But Goku didn't mind because he knew it would most definitely soon be holding a whole lot of food. 

His stomach growled at him, angrily, grumbling louder with each passing moment, until Goku became aware that it wasn't his stomach anymore, but Vegeta making those noises. The shorter Saiyan was now turned to him, shaking an overlarge fork (spiked with a sausage) at him as though admonishing him. Except it seemed to be that Vegeta was snarling at him–snarling, but grinning as well. Goku beamed back and Vegeta went back to attending the food. 

With his back to Goku, the taller Saiyan saw with surprise that Vegeta's tail had grown back. It seemed darker than it should be, and it just barely reached the ground. Vegeta was tapping it on the kitchen floor to an unheard tune, and instead of a soft swishing noise, it was clanking against the hardwood in a rhythmic beat. _Tap tap tap_. _Tap tap tap_. Goku was perplexed.

And then he was awake. The dark was as heavy as his head, and it took a moment to register that there was someone knocking on his door. He sighed heavily, exhaling any thought of the scarcely remembered dream, and drew himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes in a most innocently sleepy manner. By the time he made it to the door, the gentle rapping at the door had ceased. Goku opened the door anyway, and found himself looking at the back of Trunks' head.

Goku blinked, "Trunks?" Still unsure if he was really awake or not, Goku scratched his head in wonder. His son's closest friend at his doorstep at five in the morning? For a fleeting moment, the image of one of his sons, or Chichi, lying broken and bloody or shot or run over flashed through his mind. He carefully took a deep breath, studying the company in front of him. But Trunks didn't seem concerned, and when he turned, his eyes were filled with shame. Goku's expression softened into familiar compassion.

Trunks had spun around half worried that he'd find his father's face staring him down. He'd very nearly left, but the stars had caught his eye and he'd hesitated a moment. Long enough for Goku to answer the door. He now looked at his feet, pondering on what he could possibly be doing here. His feet didn't seem to know the answer; they just scuffled at the cement below. Trunks found that he couldn't speak.

Goku cocked his head, "Trunks, what's going on? What are you doing here?"

Trunks grimaced, imagining that he'd bothered this man from his cozy bed. But his tongue waggled away, "I came to talk to you." He paused for a second, struggling with a cotton mouth, "If that's okay."

If it was possible, Goku was even more surprised. "Sure. Come on in." He stepped back and allowed the young demi Saiyan to slip into his abode. Trunks had only seen the inside of the house a couple of times when Goten was visiting his father. The kitchen table, the same one which made an oversized appearance in Goku's dream, was the first thing he came across, and he sat in a chair without an invitation. Goku came up behind and followed suit, still scratching his head in a very Son-like manner. From his position across the table, he could see clashing emotions sailing across Trunks' features in a way he had never seen before. Trunks could be called friendly, but perhaps not open.

Goku ran a hand through his hair, still shaking off sleep, and decided to jump start this conversation. "So, what's going on?" 

Trunks pursed his lips, for a moment looking like he had eaten something sour, and dashed the threatening tears to the backs of his azure eyes. "Goku. I came to you because...," Those tears again! Were they slipping down his throat now? He couldn't seem to speak his mind. "You're such a good guy, Goku. Whether you try to or not, you always seem to choose the right path. And I need some advice from someone like that."

Goku smiled, brightening, and Trunks knew that the very part of Goku's nature that allowed him to play the part of such an angel also kept him blissfully clueless about certain things. He was however, eager to help his younger friend. "Advice about what?"

"Your son." Trunks tried to say more, but shame seemed to have wrapped an iron tight grip around his windpipe, and he could barely breathe, let alone speak. What would Goku think of him now? But it really didn't matter, did it? Trunks admired and respected Goku, but at the moment, unlocking the secret to being true to Goten was the ultimate goal.

Goku looked puzzled, "Gohan?" He paused to consider, "No, you must mean Goten. What about him?"

Trunks had finally wrestled the grasp of guilt from his throat long enough to take a deep breath, but his answer still came out scratchy and hoarse, "I'm in love with him. And I've done a very bad thing."

****

Oh, help me but don't tell me to deny it

I've gotta cleanse myself of all these lies so I'm good enough for him

I've got a lot to lose, and I'm betting high, so I'm begging you

Before it ends, just tell me where to begin

Goku seemed stunned, and Trunks had expected that. Hell, he almost expected the man to throw him out at the first three words. But Goku just cocked his head and sounded surprised, "Oh, Trunks. I'm sure whatever you've done won't seem so bad in his eyes. He cares for you, too."

Trunks rose slowly in his chair without realizing it, and seated himself again just as subconsciously. "Huh?" was all he could manage. He had never considered Goku insightful, and yet...the older Saiyan seemed to have known about his feelings for Goten. He interrupted Goku, who was repeating his last sentence.

"How could you know?"

Goku gave him a dazzling Son smile. "Goten and I are close. He doesn't keep secrets from me." 

_He might have kept this one, if I hadn't come to you first. _Trunks pushed aside this random thought and bit his lip hard. 

"What happened, exactly?" Goku barely sounded concerned. He seemed to trust his son's welfare entirely to Trunks, and suddenly Trunks felt very much that this visit was a mistake. But Goku went on, "Did you sleep with him?"

Trunks' eyes filled out randomly, and he found himself a victim of the cotton throat yet again. He managed a nod. "But..." he croaked, "It wasn't an act of love. It should have been...I wanted it to be!" A tear slipped down his cheek, and he banged his fist lightly on the table in regret, "Maybe I'm too messed up for all of that. I just left him there." Trunks gritted his teeth and thrust his fist against the table hard enough to splinter it a bit. "I _used _him!" Trunks knew he was dangerously close to losing it then, and struggled to keep from weeping openly.

Goku was silent for a moment, watching Trunks reel his emotions back in. Finally, he spoke, sounding almost child-like, "Trunks, you didn't use him. You aren't that kind of person–"

"Yes, I am! Yes, I am!" 

"Trunks–"

"How the hell would you know, anyway? You don't even know me!"

"Trunks, please, calm down–" 

But Trunks was too far gone to back off, "I'm not a good person, Goku! I'm fully capable of screwing your son and leaving him in his room, naked and crying. I'm a horrible, awful, _evil _person!" Trunks' eyes were bloodshot, and his face was caked with tainted tears. His voice cracked a bit, "But I don't want to be... I want to face this, Goku, and I want to _fix _it, not run away from it! Please, help me..."

****

Let me know the way, before there's hell to pay

And give me room to lay the law and let me go

I've got to make a play, to make my lover stay

So what would an angel say the devil wants to know?

Goku, who had subconsciously scooted away from Trunks in the past minute, now leaned in, pity etched on his features. "You love him? You're sure?"

Trunks coughed heavily, and nodded, "Absolutely."

"Then why did you leave him if you knew you were hurting him?"

Here Trunks felt himself stumped. He opened his mouth, but could find no better excuse than, "Habit." He flushed crimsonly at his crass comment, but couldn't seem to better express it. Still, after guppying for a moment more, he was able to get out, "The moment after...it's so huge and important... I can never seem to face it. I've never stayed to. Too many times I've just took off." His voice went lower, "With Goten, maybe I could have gotten past it."

Goku put his face into his hand in an expression of thought. He didn't seem righteously angry, as Trunks had expected, but rather convinced that this problem could be solved if the right answer could be found. "Trunks, when you're with Goten, how does he make you feel?"

Trunks rose a lavender eyebrow, and answered honestly, "Comforted. Content. At peace. Those things. And more...lately." A great lump of guilt drew up inside his throat, one Goku did not pass over.

"In that important moment, you need to remember who it is you're with. You've known Goten since he was born. And you should know that there's nothing he wouldn't do for you, and that he'd never hurt you in any way. I think you let the faces of others mask the face you truly love, and it scared you. You have to see Goten for who he really is, not as someone you need to run away from." Goku's tongue rested for a moment on his upper lip, as though the older Saiyan wasn't quite sure where this speech had come from, and then his face relaxed into a familiarly friendly grin. 

Trunks weakly smiled back, and was shocked to find two intensely strong, dueling feelings within himself. The first was a soft, white feeling of tenderness...and the desire to pull Goten into his arms. The second was a sharp black strike of fear. The idea of looking into Goten's deeply betrayed eyes terrified him. He slowly shook his head, though not really in response to anything so much as to clear the dust inside his heart. Goku's words had brought forth a keen, crisp feeling inside of him; the feeling of the pinpoint of light at the end of a tremendously long tunnel. The feeling of faint golden footsteps leading down the path of truth. And Trunks began to feel that maybe he could follow that path and end up in the right place.

He pulled himself to his feet, scarcely aware of the older Saiyan following him. To Goku's eyes, Trunks was pale and shaken, with heavy baggage under his eyes. Yet he looked a thousand times better at that moment than when he had first stepped into Goku's cottage. The Son reached out a hand to place on Trunks' shoulder in amiability and was shocked when Trunks pulled him into a fierce hug. He had watched Trunks grow over the years and hadn't been surprised to see Trunks take on a few of the attitudes of his father in regards to affectionate gestures. In light of Trunks' feelings towards Goten and his own towards Vegeta, Goku realized that it may not be such a farfetched idea after all.

When he pulled back, Trunks found himself brushing wetness from his cheeks, and felt the first flame of embarrassment. "Well, ah, Goku...I, uh...I'm, um..." he stammered, trying to form coherent thoughts while not losing sight of the golden footprints in front of him.

Goku smiled widely. "Go on, Trunks, get out of here. Do what you need to do." He looked at the kitchen clock, and as though triggered by the late (or early) time it stated, yawned loudly, speaking through it, "I need to get back to bed anyway."

Trunks nodded solemnly, and headed for the door. Opening it, he gazed out into the dying night, seeing more beauty in the breaking of the sun than he had in long, long years. The gilded footprints lead out to there. Out to Goten.

Tears gathered up and left him once more, dispersing against the fabric of his Capsule Corp jacket. He spun around to face Goku, still lingering by the table, and saw only a watery blur of the man he would now visit several times a week and form a deeper relationship with than he had had even with his own father.

His voice cracked with emotion, Trunks found he could not speak, but rose a quivering hand in acknowledgment and gratitude, which Goku understood. The full blooded Saiyan half-smiled sleepily and returned the wave, suddenly seeing much of the Vegeta he had recently come to know in this boy leaving his domicile. With that, Trunks leapt into the air with vigor and Goku came forth and closed the door behind him.

****

What I need is a good defense

'Cause I'm feeling like a criminal

And I need to be redeemed to the one I've sinned against

Because he's all I ever knew of love

Goten's head was pounding, and he found that he resented the sun's cruel rays more than any other natural element he had come across during the short span of his life. He had had trouble sleeping, and his dreams were plagued with the incessant image of Trunks laughing and waving a scolding finger at him before winking out of existence. When he had finally and blissfully fallen into a dreamless abyss, Goten had slept until almost two in the afternoon, and could sleep no more. 

He had at first laid in bed, wilted and withdrawn, unable to move and unable to drift away again, and cursed himself for his weaknesses. After ten minutes of lying in the puddle of sun which was tormenting him, he eventually made his way to the shower, the refreshing idea of cleansing himself of the whole mess temporarily overriding his attachment to his bed.

The shower was painful for Goten. It stung him with needle-hard spurts of water, and he couldn't seem to find a reasonable temperature. When he stepped out, dripping, he realized that he had forgotten to wash his hair. Goten sighed miserably, and ran the water again, not wanting to add uncleanliness to his list of problems.

After he had thrown on some fresh clothes, Goten found that though he felt clean on the outside, inside he felt forlornly hollow, and the idea of crawling back into bed was more than tempting. He sat down on his mattress, shaking his mop of hair slowly, and was just about to lay back when his mother's voice drifted to him down the hall. 

"Goten? Goten, are you awake?" Chichi poked her head inside the room, wrinkled her nose at the mess, and then aimed a set of dark eyes which were very nearly identical to her son's at Goten. He looked back at her grimly, and Chichi's motherly senses, normally mostly blocked by the motto "Mother knows best," instantly picked up on some piece of Goten's mood. Goten himself was just hoping that she hadn't come up to ask him to do the dishes.

Chichi lowered her voice, and as she spoke the words, some small sense of the situation came to her, "Goten, Trunks is at the door, asking for you."

Goten was aware that he had swallowed hard, and that the first coherent thought to race through his mind was _Why didn't I hear him knocking?_ That was silly, of course. Not only had he been in the bathroom, but both it and his bedroom were at the far end of the house, away from the door. He shared a long look at his mom, and a familiar heat rose through his body, ending in a wrap around C on the back of his neck. With a dry voice, he spoke. "Okay, mom. I'm coming." 

Chichi narrowed her eyes and with one last disapproving look about his room, she closed the door quietly, leaving Goten with his dread. Facing Trunks was not something he was prepared to do yet. He had assumed it would be several days before Trunks came to him, easygoing and casual, shrugging the whole ordeal off as easily as he would toss his longish lavender hair over his shoulder. As perhaps Goten had known from the very beginning of it all. Trunks was one of the few people in his life he had ever felt truly connected with, and the only one he felt he knew inside and out. He had dug his own grave this time. But perhaps it had been worth it...

It didn't matter now, anyhow. Trunks was waiting for him, and Goten had been hoping for a few days of hardcore moping–and quite possibly bawling–before he could imitate the nonchalance he knew that Trunks would wrap himself inside of. Goten tiltled his head and sighed, a gesture anyone would have been able to tell him made him look a lot like his father, stood, and left the confines of his room. 

Out in the hall, the air seemed cooler, and the heat C around his neck prickled, making him feel as though every hair back there was standing at attention. At the foot of the stairs, he could see that Trunks hadn't come in to the living room, but the front door was slightly ajar, indicating his presence on Goten's porch. Goten's nostrils flared, and for a moment breathing was difficult, and then he tightened his grip on himself, reminded that what was at stake here–Trunks' friendship–was more important than falling apart. He opened the door, teeth gritted and lips set.

Trunks had his head bowed at first, his chin nearly touching the lapels of the deep violet suit he was wearing, and his hands were behind his back. His hair was combed neatly, and when he raised his head and his eyes met Goten's, their blue grey color was bright. Goten's breath hitched, and he stood in the doorway, barely able to keep his jaw from dropping. Fortunately for him, Trunks spoke first.

"Good afternoon, Goten." So formal! Goten was beginning to wonder if he had actually woken from his sleep yet. But then a slight blush crept up Trunks' cheeks, and he put one shaking hand behind his neck. Perhaps he was familiar with the heat C as well. "I came to apologize. I was rotten to you. And maybe overnight you've decided that you're too good for me–and you would probably be right–but I still want to say what I need to say." 

With Goten still gaping, Trunks grabbed his wrist and led him to the porch's swinging bench, setting two small boxes down on the ground underneath before pulling Goten and himself down into sitting positions. Trunks' left thigh was a scant inch away from Goten's right, and Goten found himself studying that fact, still processing the events this day was leading him into.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Goten, and I think we both know I didn't mean what I said last night. I just hope I haven't lost you for good. You are so...important...to me," Trunks looked down, and put a gentle hand on Goten's thigh. Goten looked at him now, fully realizing what was unfolding here, and placed his hand over Trunks'. Trunks smiled a bit and blew a strand of unruly hair out of his eyes. "I have something for you. Two things, actually." 

He reached down and retrieved one of the boxes, peeking inside to assure himself that it was the right one, and handed it to Goten, who handled it with dumb disbelief. Goten realized that his hand was shaking as he pulled the top off to reveal a ring on a chain. The ring was a simple band of silver (matching the chain), but a closer look disclosed the faint, interlinking hearts engraved onto the outside. It was then that Goten realized he hadn't said a word, and as he gazed up into Trunks' eyes, he knew that he didn't have to. Trunks was reading his every thought.

Trunks grinned almost sheepishly and reached over to pull the ring and chain from its container. He held it up in front of Goten, and it swung easily, glimmering in the afternoon sunshine. "This one is to apologize for what I've done to you. Everything I've done." Goten, whose eyes were desperately trained on Trunks, still said nothing, feeling fragments of his thoughts floating around in his head, and the image of himself trying to capture them with a butterfly net and arrange them in some sort of intelligible way came to his mind. He smiled at this, and Trunks placed the ring on the chain back in the package and gave him the second box. Goten, eyes dancing, opened it.

Inside of Trunks' second box was another ring and chain. Like the other, this set was silver, and yet the ring... Goten couldn't take his eyes off of it. Centered in the ash gray band was a small, heart-shaped gem. He supposed it was an amethyst, but that wasn't what had drawn his gaze to it. The color was, bit for bit, exactly the same shade as Trunks' hair, now falling to his shoulders in the breeze. 

"You don't have to wear them both. You don't have to wear either, really. I would be happy enough to know that you kept them," Trunks was turning a darker shade of pink, and he fingered the ring Goten held in his palm, finishing with, "This one is a promise that I will never leave you again. It's a promise of my love. And I do love you, Goten. I hope you know that now."

If any words had managed to push past Goten's mental block, they seeped away now as Trunks uttered these vows, and Goten didn't need to ask again to reassure himself. Love was written all over Trunks' face, as plain and bright as neon pink lipstick. Goten felt tiny, hot pinpricks inside his eyes, and seconds later, tears were flooding down his face. Brushing them away, aware that Trunks was waiting for a reaction, he secured the first ring and chain around his neck, and took the second one to his right ring finger, clasping the chain in figure eight around his wrist.

During the whole gift-giving process, the two had subconsciously scooted closer to each other, and Goten didn't have to go far to take one of Trunks' hands and pull him into a kiss–a kiss to seal the deal. Everything Trunks hadn't interpreted from the looks flashing across Goten's face he now found within the soft touch of Goten's lips. As the two young lovers kissed, a gentle wind rocked the porch swing, the sun shone brightly down upon them, and Trunks began to feel forgiven. And alive. 

The End.

Reviews are appreciated!


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